Girl, Stolen(52)

“Let me in, Cheyenne!” His voice was louder and angrier now. “Let me in or you’ll be sorry!”

Or maybe she had just nicked him.

A sudden loud bang, right next to her ear, made her scream.

It happened again. Roy was, Cheyenne realized, hammering the window with a rock. A big rock.

The third time he did it, the thump sounded more muffled. It was followed by a curse and the sound of the rock falling to the ground. He had smashed his own fingers instead of the window.

Good.

Cheyenne pressed the tip of the gun up against the glass near where she thought Roy was. She pressed hard to try to keep her hand from shaking. “Stop doing that or I’ll shoot you again!”

“Really?” Roy laughed. “I don’t think so. You’ll miss me by a mile. Or maybe the bullet will ricochet and hit you. So go ahead.” And then he smashed the rock down again.





DRIVING BLIND


As she pressed the nose of the gun against the window, Cheyenne realized Roy was right. Even if the bullet didn’t ricochet – and she wasn’t quite sure how that worked – even if it did go through the window, wouldn’t she still be cut by flying glass? And Roy probably wouldn’t even be hurt. All she would accomplish would be to create a huge gaping hole. And then he could get her.

Frustrated and afraid, Cheyenne started to cry.

The rock banged against the window again, making her jump. Her foot touched the accelerator, and the car engine raced.

She had to do something, but what?

Then she had a sudden memory. Her mom sitting beside her, letting Cheyenne drive around the empty winding roads of a nearby cemetery on a damp Saturday afternoon.

Could she just drive away?

Another bang. It was only a matter of time before the window cracked and then broke.

Okay. She could do this. The engine was still on. Cheyenne turned in the seat and set down the gun. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that it cut into her fingers.

She quickly rehearsed what she remembered. The accelerator was on the right. The brake on the left.

But wait. The car was clearly in park now. And Cheyenne needed it to be in drive. But the one car she had driven had been an automatic. What if this was a stick? She had no idea how to use a clutch.

Leaning forward, Cheyenne felt to her right. No gearshift knob. Just the hump in the middle of the floor. The car must be an automatic. But where was the lever to change gears?

The rock banged down again.

Another flash of memory. Her grandma’s old car, so old it didn’t have seat belts. And the shifter was on top of the steering wheel. Sending up a silent prayer, Cheyenne pushed down one of the wands branching off the steering column. In answer, a sweeping sound. The windshield wipers.

“Hey!” Roy yelled. “Hey!”

She pushed the lever back up. The second wand felt thicker. It shifted down a notch with a satisfying clunk. Then the car moved, all right, but it bumped backward.

Cheyenne jammed both feet on the brake.

“Hey!” Roy yelled again. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

What was she doing? This was ridiculous. Maybe she should just give up.

She saw movement in her sliver of vision, so it wasn’t a surprise when the rock slammed down on the window again. Only this time, Cheyenne thought she heard a cracking sound.

She pulled the knob down one more notch. Nothing. A third notch. The car jerked forward. Even though her foot wasn’t on the accelerator, it was moving. The front tires crunched over the gravel and rolled onto the smooth surface of the road.

Roy was still yelling, but Cheyenne ignored him. She concentrated on straightening out the car – driving only by sound – so that all four tires were on the road. Only then did she gingerly put her foot on the accelerator. She was too afraid to go fast. If she went off the road and ran into a tree, then Roy would be free to do whatever he wanted to her. Her left front tire chattered in gravel. She jerked the wheel, heard Roy curse on the other side of the window. When the right tire left the road, she corrected more gently.

Outside she could hear Roy’s footfalls. First he was walking beside her, and then running. Each of his steps spurred her to press the pedal a millimeter farther down. When a tire left the road, she adjusted the steering wheel infinitesimally. And then Roy began to fall back.

Cheyenne was just starting to let herself hope when a new sound made her jump. It was the electronic shrill of a mobile.

What should she do? She felt paralyzed. Who could be calling Roy? TJ? Jimbo? Some friend of Roy’s? Whoever it was, she was sure the kind of people who would call Roy would not be the kind to come to her rescue. There was no point in answering it.

Without thinking about it, Cheyenne had lifted her foot off the accelerator. The car began slowing down until it was barely moving.